


This Little Piggy

by HailForTheQueen



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Domestic Violence, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailForTheQueen/pseuds/HailForTheQueen
Summary: This little piggy cried all the way home.





	This Little Piggy

**Author's Note:**

> Whooaaa I haven't posted in so long yet I've been writing this on and off this around July... My bad... There'll be two parts to this, I was originally going to post this as a oneshot with both parts combined but I like it better this way. The second half is about 40% wirtten/finished but it won't take as long I swear!  
> I also created a playlist, but every song aside from 1 is all in the second part so...  
> The song for this half is called 'Black And Blue' by Sia and... it was on youtube but now it's not because it's technically unreleased... But there's a really good cover of it by Michael Barbera which is really powerful and you could even say more fitting for this as Sia's was a lot more upbeat (for lack of better word) since it had all the instruments and stuff and this sounds more solemn (?)  
> https://playmoss.com/en/hailforthequeen/playlist/feels  
> I'm babbling....  
> Just read...

 

He can't quite recall when this first started. Not properly, not the point in their relationship where small touches began to linger and gazes started to meet with a type of confidence only attraction could bring. These things seem vague, as if they'd been painted with an opaque wash, now cloudy and old and disregarded at the back of his mind. What's clear is their first time together. The way Tom-san would play with his blonde tufts of hair and plant kisses along his skin, trailing from his neck to his stomach. If he imagined hard enough, he swears he could recall the feel of hot breath against his skin as Tom whispered lustful words that Shizuo couldn't help but moan at. The foreplay and preparation had felt amazing, he'd truly never been so pleasured in his life and, slapped from naïve thoughts that Tom would treasure him for all eternity, would never feel as pleasured again. On that night, the mood had been perfect. He'd spread himself across Tom's bed telling himself that he'd do anything the man asked, after all, he wouldn't get hurt, if Tom wanted to do it they'd both feel good. He wishes he could go back to that night and had just stopped it while it felt good, even though he's now aware that Tom wouldn't have stopped.

Presently, Shizuo's sitting at Tom's kitchen table, pouring milk into his bowl of cereal. His hair's a mess from last night and so is his skin; impure and covered in ugly blue and purple smudges that smear across his skin and engrave his boyfriend's dominance. He can feel a dull ache radiating from the discoloured marks that stain his hips, arms, thighs and collar and vaguely wishes he hadn't had fought back so much, hadn't of been so disobedient because then he wouldn't be sitting on the hard wooden chair and shivering in nothing but shorts and one of Tom's old shirts. If he'd been compliant then he'd still be in bed, wrapped around the brunette's slumbering body and deceived by the hopeful promise from the body heat of your lover and the darkness of the night.

Thinking back to how it felt to curl against his side leaves Shizuo craving for Tom-san's touch and he can't help but berate himself, inwardly shout about how he should've just allowed Tom to bind him instead of putting up a fight when he really wasn't in the mood. Instead he'd bitten and screamed and cried and Tom had just tied him up and pounded into him as if his goal wasn't his own selfish pleasure, but specifically Shizuo's pain. He'll most likely laugh when he sees Shizuo's limp or the way he winces when he sits down or whimpers in pain whenever someone touches a part of his body Tom had access to last night. And Tom had access to everywhere, there wasn't a single thing he could deny him. Maybe he'll get angry at seeing the marks and hit him for making him hit him, which makes no sense whatsoever. But it's Tom and Tom's the man Shizuo loves.

He smiles weakly at the thought as he picks up his spoon. He wants to grin and laugh like a maniac at the thought of having Tom as his lover. He wants to be able to be happy about it but his body acknowledges what his mind refuses to, and so there is only the faintest lift of his lips. He moves the spoonful of cereal to his open mouths and starts to eat. The cereal is old and bland and quite frankly disgusting, but he eats it anyway because it's been over 24 hours since anything but Tom has come close to his mouth. He tries to convince himself that he's hungry, it's the only thing that gets him to actually eat food these days. But when Tom emerges from his room and steps into the kitchen, when Tom mutters "Stupid fucking bitch," when Tom walks towards him and when Tom smacks the back of his hard enough to send it jerking forwards and spilling cereal from his spoon and onto the table, all of Shizuo's resolution drains and he feels more sick than anything.

"Well, clean it up then." Tom snaps, glaring over his shoulder at the tearing blonde before turning back to pour water into his kettle.

Shizuo stands on weak legs, shivering ever so slightly from the cold of the apartment after being stripped of anything that shows less than half of his thighs. He pads over to the kitchen where Tom is adding tea and sugar into a mug, his face contorted into his early-morning anger Shizuo's grown accustomed to. He looks down as he walks to grab some kitchen towel, making an effort to avoid the eye contact that will earn him a slap or a couple harsh words spat in his face.

He wipes at the mess of soggy cereal gingerly and calculatedly, making sure there's not a spot left he hasn't wiped off before padding to the bin and making to sit back down.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Tom snaps, grabbing a fistful of harsh blonde hair.

Shizuo stares at his feet, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. "I-I was just having some breakfast,"

"Why? You're fat enough already aren't you, Piggy?"

Warmth rushes from Shizuo's neck to his cheeks, flushed crimson in embarrassment.

Tom snorts. "Look at that, you've gone pink, just like a little Piggy." When he doesn't get a reply, he wrenches the blonde's jaw upwards and glares into his eyes. "Answer me, Piggy, what do you think you're doing?"

His eyes widen then lower and he has to force his voice out past the stinging in his throat. "I w-was hungry..."

His boyfriend snarls at him, pushes him forward onto stumbling feet and gets back to preparing tea, but not before throwing a comment over his shoulder. "It's not like you have to eat everyday, you're fat enough to last a couple months without. Think about me, it's not easy being with someone like you."

A frown stains Shizuo's face as he goes to sit back at the table, listlessly staring at the soggy flakes of cereal remaining. Shizuo's strong, or so he used to be. After so many broken bones and successful fights, he'd never once flirted with the idea of being weak, because he had never felt weak. Even laying in a hospital bed while staring at the plain ceilings or having his various and extensive injuries explained, he knew he'd only get stronger. He felt it. Weakness of the mind never once occurred to him. Any type of emotional or verbal abuse seemed to be pure stupidity in his eye, who could be injured by insults when they didn't even feel a gunshot?

His parents loved him, he adored his brother, his friends tolerated him, Celty talked to him like a human. And Tom treasured him. What else was there to think about?

Honey eyes shift to stare into the void of white of his skimmed milk. It tastes like water, nothing like the rich creaminess he remembers. Maybe that's a good thing, these days he can't stomach even the thought of sweets.

He looks up as he hears Tom's mug come into contact with the marble surface and his footsteps approach. He swallows rising bile as he looks up to the way Tom is towering over him, forcing back a flinch as callused hands brush against his cheek where a blooming bruise lays.

"Why don't you listen to me, huh? Then I wouldn't have to do this—get violent." Tom crouches down so that he's eye level with the blonde, who breaks the eye contact to look away. Tom wrenches his jaw until their eyes lock once again, his eyebrows twitching into a frown that syncs with his lips. "Look at me. You make me do this to you; you make me hurt you; you make me imperfect."

He squeezes his jaw lightly before pulling him into a chaste kiss and swiping a thumb across his lips. "You're my imperfection."

And with that, Tom retreats to the bathroom and leaves Shizuo tracing the remains of a kiss, trembling in the cold of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Shizuo doesn't see Tom again for 2 hours after that. When those hours pass, Tom emerged from his room, clean from a shower and dressed impeccably in a fresh shirt and grey pants, both of which Shizuo had ironed and hung up before he slept last night. At first he doesn't say anything, simply pads around as he tries to button up his cuffs. Shizuo doesn't interject with the offer of help, he knows better to speak when he's not spoken to. Instead, he continues to sit on the sofa trying to decode the book Tom had gotten him for his birthday two years ago. It's something he keeps within arms reach at any point of the day, holding sentiment in both himself and Tom. Not only was it the last present he's gotten from Tom in two years, but it was enough to soften his partner, knowing that Shizuo treasured something as dearly as what he'd brought. It doesn't matter that the kanji's too hard and the story too complex even after this time, it's a present and it's enough.

"Get the fuck off of your lazy ass and go make two cups of coffee," Tom says from somewhere at his desk.

Two?

"Two?" Shizuo calls out.

Tom's eyes lock with him from across the room, eyebrows narrowed above the brown orbs. "Izaya's coming to help with work. Got a nasty ex-yakuza trying to avoid paying up quite the sum. Make sure you get him everything that he asks for."

Shizuo doesn't say a word in response. He nods his head to hide his uneasiness and waits for Tom to move before he closes the book and gently place it on the top of the bookshelf, padding to the kitchen and switching on the kettle.

He makes the coffee: two mugs filled 3/4 with hot water and a table spoon of grounded coffee. He places it onto a large tray and sets it onto the counter, going to collect the other items. Shuffling through the cupboards and fridge, he pulls out milk, cream and sugar, placing some of each in little saucers and adding them to the tray as he takes it to the living room.

He places it onto the coffee table he'd sat at earlier, and not two minutes later there's a knock on the door.

"Open the door and stay out of the way," Tom calls from his bedroom.

The door's opened and Shizuo's met with the distastefully familiar sight of black clothes and red eyes.

"Good morning, Shizu-chan." Izaya greets, slipping past the blonde and into the living room. He spins on his heel giggling. "I heard you'd moved in with your boyfriend quite some time ago, why so quiet?"

Shizuo doesn't say a word, he's been warned to serve tea and nothing else unless asked: not even someone as provoking as Izaya would be enough for him to break an order and have to face punishment. He has no anger and no strength, but everything to lose if the raven gets the better of him. He instead bows his head, and walks back to the kitchen, just as Tom emerges, leaving Izaya quirking a brow in confusion.

Tom and Izaya sit at the coffee table for three hours, going through documents and occasionally gathering around Izaya's laptop when something comes up. Not that Shizuo would know. He's retreated into Tom's bedroom, been there since the two started drinking the coffee. Instead of sitting in the kitchen and possibly eavesdropping, he decided to lay down until they were done, if only he could get some sleep.

He stares at the ceiling and finds himself getting lost in the story of his past life, the pre-Tom period that slips through his fingers like sand in a timer. It's dangerous, wanting to go back to when his biggest troubles were a broken rib and a fight with Izaya, dangerous to long for a time when the flea was his main priority and not his boyfriend, someone he should hate on par with the one he should love.

Fingertips gingerly trace over the patches of bruised skin on his stomach. He was never a big believer in faith or religion, so why is he longing for a sign of hope now?

A chuckle pushes past his lips, but it's eerily loud in the silence of the room, and just as fake as it is painful. His eyes start to sting and he feels as though his throat is closing up, rough with the feeling of stone lodge in the back and forcing its way up.

Here come the tears. He thinks to himself. It doesn't take much for him to cry anymore. Maybe a slap for eating? An insult for trying to kiss? It all hardly matters when Tom calls out that he's leaving.

He drags his sluggish body out or the warmth and comfort of Tom's bed, slowly making his way to the kitchen table to sit down. Tom's gotten up to walk to the door, making sure to bring his cigarettes and lighter through the front door with him. "Be back in 5." And then he slams the door.

"How's it living with the love of your life?" Izaya says from the couch. "As perfect as you'd imagined?"

Shizuo sighs and holds his head in his hands, staring down at the golden, glazed wood of the table. "I wouldn't know."

The tapping of keys pause, and he's sure Izaya's looked up from his work with a smile on his face. "Hmm? And what do you mean by that, may I ask?"

"Nothing. Forget it, I didn't say anything."

"That won't do." Izaya shuts his laptop with an audible click as he turns to look at the blonde fully. "I'm rather curious now. Trouble in paradise?"

Shizuo snorts. "Not really any of your business now, is it?"

"On the contrary, I'm doing business with your boyfriend, details like this would be quite useful."

Shizuo doesn't say anything to that, just looks up to the clock frowning.

"Don't you want to gossip with your old friend, Izaya?"

This time the frown is directed to the raven. "Don't say such disgusting things, it makes me sick."

"Don't be like that!" Izaya says, feigning hurt. When he doesn't get a response, he speaks again. "Really. How's it going?"

Shizuo raises an eyebrow. "You're really asking the guy who used to beat you to a pulp how it's going?"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Izaya laughs. "Telling people that makes you feel better about not being able to catch me?"

"Fuck you."

Izaya looks up in consideration. "But's it's true that we haven't had a chase in quite a while. Boyfriend mellowed you out? It's more like he put a leash on you, ne?"

"He might as well have."

"There you go again with those little subliminal messages you avoid explaining," Izaya observes. "Let's discuss it over some watermelon, Tom-san said he bought some yesterday. Go cut me a slice."

Shizuo glares at the raven for a moment before Tom's voice floats back into his mind. _'Make sure you get him everything that he asks for'_. He sighs deeply and moves to the fridge to retrieve the fruit, laying it on the counter as he searches for a knife. He cuts out a large, single slice and presents it on a plate before Izaya, who's moved to the kitchen table. Shizuo sits opposite him and watches him take a few bites until the raven begins talking again.

"So a leash?"

"You could say so." Says Shizuo uncertainly.

"You feel like he's restraining you." Izaya offers.

Shizuo cuts him a glare. "Don't think too deeply about it, Flea."

"I'm not, just trying to analyse the meaning." Izaya puts down the watermelon. "You don't look happy."

"Yeah, that's cause I have to sit here and babysit the guy I've hated all my life."

Izaya rolls his eyes. "Not that," He says seriously. "Aren't you supposed to be happy now that you live with the person you love? Ah. Wait. You said earlier you wouldn’t know."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you break up then?" he suggests.

"It's not that simple." He explains. He looks at the slice of fruit left on the plate. "Done?"

"Yup!"

Shizuo stands up and takes the plate to the counter directly behind the table.

"You say it's not that easy but you're not willing to explain?"

Shizuo leans on the counter surface and takes a few bites of the remaining red flesh. "I don't fucking want to." He says, taking one more bite before discarding the skin into the bin while Izaya watches.

"I don't even know if I should say anything about that."

Shizuo looks to the raven, a warm flush of blood rushing to his neck and cheeks. He's so used to quietly eating Tom's leftovers he'd done the same to Izaya's.

"And you didn't get some for yourself because..?"

Shizuo goes to sit back down opposite the raven. "Like I keep saying, it's not that simple."

"Explain it to me then."

"Someone like you wouldn't understand shit." Says Shizuo.

"At least someone like me has the brains not to get held down in a toxic relationship." Izaya sneers.

Maybe it's the arrogant tone or the way Izaya acts as though he knows everything, like it can be defined as something so mundane and domestic, but it triggers anger that wells up from his chest. "What the fuck do you know, huh?" Shizuo snaps, leaning across the table to grab Izaya's shirt by the collar.

"That you think Tom is controlling and suffocating to be around."

Shizuo takes in a deep breath. "I never said that."

"Eh..?" Izaya says, leaning into his fist. "But that's what I'm gonna let slip to Tom,"

"FUCK YOU" He pushes back at Izaya in the hopes of flipping him backward, only for the raven to push forward and stand up.

Izaya smirks at the brute manhandling the front of his top, an idea coming to mind. He reaches out and briefly caresses the side of Shizuo's face. "Go make dinner, bitch."

Tom opens the door, shoving his cigarettes and lighter into his back pocket. "Sorry Izaya, I'm ba—"

"FUCK YOU, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU" He screams, raising his fist and swinging at Izaya who promptly dodges the blow and pushes the blonde away.

Which is when Tom storms across the room and grabs Shizuo's hair.

He pulls Shizuo away from the raven, slamming him into a wall far enough to give him a sense of privacy. "The fuck do you think you're doing? Huh?" He whispers harshly, shoving him further into the wall, his shirt balled in Tom's fist. "Think you can treat my work acquaintances like this?" He punctuates the question with another shove.

"He was provoking me! Just because you don't care about him hurting me, doesn't mean I don't. You think I'm gonna let him walk over me the way you do? You think I'm gonna take that shit?"

Tom looks incredulous for a moment; eyebrows raised and grip loosening briefly. He takes a small step back with a single foot as he sees a fire rage in Shizuo, one he hasn't seen for months. Those faded honey eyes pulse and flicker to life before him, but he knows he has everything he needs to crush the flame between his fingers. "Who said you have the right to talk to me like this?" He asks in a low voice.

This time Shizuo grabs Tom's collar and tries to shove back. "Who the fuck said I need permission to speak how I like? I'll kill you, I'll kill you and him." He jerks his head towards Izaya who's moved back to the coffee table and perched on the sofa, patting down the front of his top and opening his laptop to allow him to silently watch the exchange with a smirk dancing on his lips under the pretence of working.

Then Tom does something unexpected. Against the growing tension in the room, he slumps his head forward, hands moving to rest on Shizuo's own, and laughs the ugliest sound the blonde and raven have ever heard. He squeezes the smaller hands in his own and looks up to meet the stunned eyes, laughing harder and harder and harder, before coming to an abrupt stop.

"God that was funny." He lets go of the hands and brushes them off, thrusting forward to take the pale neck in his grip. "Do you honestly think you have the strength to be saying that? You can't even fight me off when I hold you down and rape you." Tom breathes, his face an inch from Shizuo's own.

He shudders in Tom's hold, face draining of colour and turning ghastly pale as if he knew he was already dead. He starts to tug on Tom's hands as the pressure in his neck increases, eyes snapping shut as they bead with tears. He thinks of all the times they've fought and how he's never once opened his mouth to speak such vulgar words against him, not since he'd learned not to.

Red eyes watch them from the sofa. Izaya can't say he's not shocked by what he heard, and he heard every word. The hands that once confidently typed at the computer as he watched their argument have come to a stop, now fidgeting over the keys. In his mind, he hears himself chanting: _Come on Shizuo, push him, punch him, lose control_. And against every prediction Izaya has, Shizuo just stands there, pathetically pulling at what must be stronger hands until his face is turning blue and there are a few stray tears leaking from his eyes.

He hasn't felt this uncertain in a while. Does he go to help? Leave? Call out to them? He hasn't felt this uncomfortable either. He hates the blonde and seems to know nothing about Tom, yet he's uneasy witnessing this scene of domestic violence play out before him, one of the many scenes he's sure has happened, and the mention of rape still has even his skin crawling.

The only thoughts he seems to be flirting with are dark and heavy and all around confusing. Shizuo being beaten and abused in various ways isn't something that makes much sense, and yet here he is, being thrown to the ground as Tom pushes him away and looks to meet Izaya's eyes.

He scratches at the back of his neck and looks at Izaya apologetically. "Sorry you had to see that." He chuckles nervously. "It's best you leave now so that I can deal with him." Tom says, leading Izaya towards the door. On his way, his eyes meet with Shizuo's own and he can't help but flinch at what he sees. Those honey eyes are staring at him in terror, pure unadulterated fear. It's as though he's begging Izaya to do something, anything! and he shudders as the word "rape" drifts into him mind.

He gets to the door and faces Tom with a face full of his usual smiles, thanking him for the work and nodding when Tom speaks, but he doesn't dare to shake his hand.

* * *

 

It's the build up that gets to him the most.

Tom's angry. For Shizuo to have dared to act out against him while a business acquaintance was there is unacceptable in his eyes. It hardly matters that this acquaintance has made Shizuo's life the epitome of a personal hell for years. Tom can see past Izaya scarring, fighting and tormenting Shizuo; just not past Shizuo mumbling a rude comment and showing a little disdain at the intrusion.

All he can see is red as he pushes Shizuo up against the wall, slamming the slim shoulders against the concrete walls and pressing his own body up against the blonde's to keep him immobilised.

It's forced and powerful when Tom captures Shizuo's lips in a fierce kiss that leaves the blonde's stomach roiling with the fear of his partner's oncoming show of domination over him. He breathes into the kiss, overwhelmed with booze and the taste of cigarettes radiating from Tom which seems to be more than he can handle in his trembling state. He pushes back against the broad shoulders in a feeble attempt at keeping the waves of aggression away and is met with a fist with the weight and force of his body pummelling into his stomach. He immediately represses the urge to vomit up the left-overs of Izaya's slice of watermelon from earlier with a shaking hand clamping over his mouth. That's when he cracks and the tears start. Small at first, just pricks leaking from the corner of his eyes as Tom roughly strips him of clothing. Another kiss is crashing on kiss lips as he feels his shorts roughly pulled down his thighs.

"Tom! No, please not right now!" He begs. He hates himself for the way his voice wavers in desperation, how he looks up to the man with teary eyes and a running nose because he's bearing all of his anguish to Tom in the hope that he takes pity on him. That's the only time that Shizuo gets off easy from an angry Tom, when the older man looks into his fading honey eyes and sees every morsel of agony and torment flitting through his veins and sending those thoughts to his mind; it's not until Tom has the chance to stare at the weak, shivering body marked with a bouquet of bruises that he caused, does he take pity on Shizuo. Does he bathe him and kiss him and hold him so closely at night—so tightly—that no matter how hard he tries, he can't scratch at his skin while he cries and screams out to die. 

Tonight there is no such thing. The sound of a slap ripples throughout the apartment, violent and savage. Then there's Shizuo's cry as another punch lands on that same cheek, harder, knocking him the floor. Tom's on him within seconds, wasting no time as he grabs his blonde hair and yanks it upwards, raising his head with it only to repeatedly slam it back into the floor until Shizuo's stopped struggling and for a few moments, can only see white flashes among a black sky. Tonight Tom's going overboard.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID, FAT BITCH"

Shizuo manages to whimper out a please before there's a rough hand squeezing his neck and cutting off oxygen. The hand's wrapped tight around the impossibly small neck, every ounce of strength he'd build up over the years to protect Shizuo goes into his right hand at that moment, increasing the pressure until his right arm's shaking and the blonde's on the verge of passing out, weak hands feebly pawing at his boyfriend.

"Disappear."

Shizuo stops fighting, his arms falling limp by his side as glazed honey eyes stare into Tom's brown ones. Tom sees the way they're losing focus and going blank, yet he still takes a few moments to glare before he can reluctantly loosen his grip. But there's not even three seconds for Shizuo to catch his breath before Tom's on his feet and kicking him to the corner of the room as he wheezes and splutters for breath.

"T-Tom-sa…Tom.."

Using his foot, he flips Shizuo onto his stomach, crouching over his back and slamming his forehead to the floor holding a fistful of blonde hair.

He stands once more to remove his own pants. The moment is brief but Shizuo takes the opportunity to kick at Tom's knees with every ounce of strength he has left in his body and sends him stumbling backward.

Good, he thinks to himself. It gives him enough time to crawl to the bathroom—the precious bathroom with a lock, just around the corner, really it's only 10 seconds, 15 on his hands and knees but Tom will be down and groaning for 20, probably too irritated to pursue him, he can make it.

He drags his body past the doorframe, heart thudding in his chest and beating alongside his panicked breaths. He goes to close the door so he can lock it, but it gets jammed on something and doesn't shut. At first, he surveys the doorframe to see a suspected tissue or case blocking the door, only to be confronted with a foot. He looks up, still wheezing with the pain and panic of his boyfriend's aggression, to see a solemn Tom standing there.

"Shizuo…" He breathes out, ghosting forwards. Shizuo briefly thinks it must look like a scene from a horror movie; this lumbering brute moving so quietly towards the terrified victim only backing up in response. Kasuka was in a movie like that, but it was different because the lumbering brute was a vampire who only wanted to be loved yet scared of the notion, and the terrified victim understood and promptly loved the beast back. He momentarily thought of how ironic his situation was in comparison to the movie, but was quickly snatched from the thought as he screamed out.

Tom had brutally stamped his foot on the pale stomach, knocking the little residue of breath and a screech out of him. Shizuo feels as though he's only seconds away from falling into unconsciousness, yet he meets Tom's stare.

Tom crouches down over Shizuo, gazing into faded honey eyes. He can see the fear and pain that's like a great storm, billowing in the wind and rising with the waves. Shizuo offers him a small smile, just the slightest upturn of his lips. He closes his eyes and lets the warm tears sting and roll down his cheeks. He takes in a shuddering breath, repressing a sob and brings two shaking hands up to cup Tom's cheeks. His left hand moves to twirl a dreadlock around his finger and gently run his fingertips along his boyfriend's cheekbone, smiling and crying. "T-Tom…" He breathes out, his expression falling into one of grief and love as though he only now knows the meaning of a marriage hearse.

Shizuo can't see, but Tom's face is soft for a moment as the hand caresses his face. The touch of his loved one seems to shock him into reality and he slaps the hands down. His face is twisted and warped with complicated emotion. Tom leans down and wipes a smear of blood from Shizuo's forehead, licking it off of his thumb.

With a husky and rough voice, Tom whispers, "I love you." Then he rapes him.

* * *

 

The next day, his nerves are completely shot. He wakes up on the bathroom floor and he already wants to die. For a minute, he doesn't dare to move an inch. Instead, he lays there and feels whatever's in contact with his body and whatever remains from last night. The only thing touching him is the cold tiles, but he can feel the stab of bruises choking around his neck, face, hips and back. Then there's the cold, dried up fluid, some still sticky and some crusted in awkward places. He goes to sit up and fights through the pain radiating from his bones. The tears aren't falling yet. That's a good sign. He stands up and gingerly locks the door with shaking fingers as quietly as possible, the door handle pulled down as it clicks into place. Even as he feels a small stream of liquid leak out of him, he just wobbles to the sink and stares at himself hard.

He's all beaten skin and tired eyes, hollow with a crumbling shell caving in on itself. In the dark pupils, he thinks he sees a better life. One where he's woken up before Tom and is brushing his teeth before going to make breakfast; maybe it's Tuesday, his turn to cook. Or it might be that in those pupils, he's laughing with a pair of arms around his waist and a face nuzzling into his neck with the early morning cuddles. Maybe those pupils are looking back into his own and imagining what it would be like to not have everything they'd want, to not have loving friends and a boyfriend who beats him and maybe that's the reason he's here.

No time for wondering. No time for a crisis, as lovely as it would be to have one. He had a breakdown once. Just the one time a few months ago. Tom found him laying in the bathtub, empty and staring at the wall. He didn't respond when Tom slapped him or yelled at him or pleaded. After an hour or interrogation, he was lifted out of the bath and carried to the bed where he slept until he woke to the smell of a pleasant dinner he had no interest in eating. At the table, he'd just listlessly stare at Tom, sometimes at the food and sometimes at the floor until Tom sighed and left the room. He thought he'd gone to bed after 15 minutes, then he thought nothing at all. Tom had come back and carried him to the bathroom where the tub he'd once slept in was filled with soapy warm water. Each item of clothing had been taken off slowly and he'd been gently lifted into the water, strong hands supporting his body. Tom had washed him and let him soak for another 10 minutes, never once leaving his side until he pulled the plug and wrapped him in their biggest and softest towel. That night, when he was held tightly to Tom's chest with arms wrapped around him, Shizuo cried. He sobbed and he hyperventilated so Tom had to sit up and remind him how to breathe. Then he spoke his first and last words of the day, telling Tom that he wanted to die before promptly crying himself to sleep. This cycle happened for a week the only difference being how his intake of food varied.

Tom had started to research into finding a psychologist to diagnose and help with this problem when on the eighth day, Shizuo took a shower by himself. Tom didn't say anything, just silently watched as Shizuo had dried and dressed himself for the first time in a week, then fallen asleep. The next day he ate breakfast without Tom's assistance, and after that he started to talk about the show he was watching and within a week he was back to normal. Then within another week, the couple had fallen back into the abusive cycle that was their relationship.

Shizuo can't say much about the experience was positive apart from the brief show of affection, it just hollowed him out knowing Tom could only care about him when he was on the verge of ending his life, and it was disheartening knowing the good care and love would only last a few weeks before he promptly killed himself.

His glazed eyes sharpen as they refocus on his surroundings. He doesn't bother to stare his body down for bruises and cuts. He turns on the shower, making sure the water's completely cold. When he gets in, he makes sure to scrub at the dirty bruises and the blood from his forehead. He then pours a tiny amount of shampoo in his hands and tries to wash out the stains in his hair, making sure none of the suds go to waste before he washes his body. He starts with his neck, running the cloth down both arms, his chest and the little of his back he can reach. Then his ankles as he trails up to his legs and stops. In the privacy of the shower, he slides down the wall and into a sitting position, staring up into the jets of water as he spreads his legs open. It's just in the early morning quiet and disguise of water, he allows himself to sob as he cleans out the residue from last night. Then he gets out.

His forehead's bleeding out fresh blood again, not loads but enough to let him know that the crusted blood was the only thing keeping the wound closed. He's sure from the throbbing at the back of his head, that the wound on the back of his head is probably bleeding too, mixing into the blonde locks, but Tom's not going to say anything so neither will he.

He wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand and wraps the towel around his waist, going to open the door, limping past the cabinet where he knows they keep the first aid kit and pretending like there's not a sharp pain stabbing from where he was raped or a dull ache in his lower back.

The air outside the bathroom is cold, it must be earlier than 6 o'clock. He pauses then; Tom won't be up yet and the only way of getting fresh clothes is to go into his room. Sighing in defeat, he turns around and heads back to the streaming bathroom to dress in his dirtied clothes from yesterday.

He ponders just staying in the bathroom until Tom wakes up, but it's the first place he heads to after leaving his room and bumping into him may lead to bruises and tears and maybe even another round. It's safer sitting at the kitchen table with his head down.

That is until he wakes to the sounds of Tom pulling the bedroom door open and storming out. He flinches in his position, but he doesn't look up, even as he can tell that Tom is just standing there and staring holes into him.

Tom eventually passes, but he can't help the pain that attacks his heart; not the good pain that you grit your teeth and bear knowing things get better, but the kind that numbs you until you're so distanced from your mind, your limbs feel heavy as lead. It's as though he can't even move, but he hears Tom scream at him in some hot and heavy voice which has something to do with his fruitless presence and hunger.

When he does make breakfast, he doesn't eat a single bite, and when Tom opens the door for Izaya he doesn't say a single word. He lowers his head completely and takes an apple back to their room, making sure to pull the door handle down to avoid much sound. He lays on the big bed, rolling onto his stomach and holding onto Tom's pillows, burying his face in the sweet smell. He's disillusioned. He doesn't love Tom anymore, in fact he hates the idea of love altogether at this point. What he feels is attachment and fear and the two combined are enough to forge manacles. The thoughts are exhausting enough to lull him into the deep sleep he lacked last night.

When he wakes up to his screaming stomach, he reaches over to the dresser and takes the fruit he's left there earlier, biting into the apple, chewing and swallowing until not even the core is left, all the while looking out the plain window to the side of the bed. There is a swarm of birds buzzing through the darkening sky, fast-flitting black dots with the faintest clue of wings that don't seem to move as they glide through the air. It seems like they've spilt into two circles, a loop of them ever moving as a collective; no individuals as though if you try to follow one with your eye, it'll simply fade into the distance. He doesn't blame them, wishes it was as simple as being able to imperceptibly disappear under Tom's heated glare.

Just the mention of Tom's name leaves the apple feeling heavy in the pit of his stomach, unbearably so. He regrets it, eating at all. He should've left it, waited until there was nothing else he could do to take away the mind-numbing hunger, then he wouldn't feel so guilty, like there were a hundred sets of eyes dissecting him, tearing apart everything that made him and judging them. The process has begun.

After the guilt, it's the paranoia. It doesn't come often, he's stable enough to know what Tom is doing and to eat what he can when Tom's not around; but sometimes he can't help the creeping fear that tonight's the night Tom will realise, tonight's the night he snaps. That's the force that drives Shizuo to slink into the bathroom, paying no attention to any of his surroundings.

He walks to the bathroom with assurance and cold eyes that never once leave the floor until he's safely inside and the door is locked. He pauses and takes a shaky breath, desperate to fight against the sudden sense of pure wrongness. And yet he kneels down in front of the toilet, conforming and obedient.

He remembers the first time he did it. He'd heard about people doing it to lose weight quickly, just to make themselves a little thinner, a little sexier and always just the once. It didn't matter that it could become addictive, that didn't apply to him, he was throwing up after all; nobody likes that. He had crouched down in front of the toilet, leaning his arms on the bowl of it and closing his eyes. Of course there'd been endless epiphanies of his stupidity and shame to stoop to such a level and yet he did just about everything to convince himself it wasn't as pathetic as it seemed. He was ashamed and yet the reason he gave himself was that it was just the nerves. When he'd hid away that suffocating doubt and shame--because it never really leaves completely--he'd put two fingers in his mouth, resting them hesitantly on his tongue. Then he'd squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the fingers deeper until he'd gagged and pulled them out. He'd spluttered and coughed and when he'd regained his composure, he'd stuck them further down the back of his throat, fingertips scratching at the tender flesh down his throat, and vomited into the toilet. His stomach had contracted with a vigorous sense of violence he'd only ever known from Tom to this point, one he'd never even felt in a fight. Chunks of broken down food, slick with bile and some pinkish liquid hit the water of the toilet bowl with an obscene splash, the vomit never straying from the target.

Even after the first wave had proved sufficient, it didn't stop, a lesser one still urging the little water and contents in his stomach back up his throat, sore and temporarily damaged from the harsh stomach acid. His fingers had never given up until he was on the verge of consciousness and as empty as he'd ever felt.

It's very much like that now, the only exception being that little comes up. There's fresh apple and water and bile and that's about it. He thinks it should be a routine, as simple and rooted into him as that he did it as efficiently as his cleaning and cooking, but it never gets easier. It's never been easy before and it’s not easy now. It's not working.

It's not enough…

That's when the tears start, straight into the heavy streams wetting his cheek, sobs muffled by his shaking hand. It's never enough, but this time it's unacceptable. He knows Tom's still brooding from last night, even more afraid thinking this would make it worse.

"M-more…" He chokes, fingers back to probing his airway but this time he feels dizzy. He spits up the last of the bile and saliva, body shaking over the edge of the toilet bowl, tears blearing his vision. He has to lean backwards in order to not fall face-first into the toilet bowl. But there's nobody here to help him. There's not a single soul here to run his back or help clean up the mess, himself included. He wipes at his mouth, acidic residue leaving a slick trail from his lips to the back of his hand.

The smell of vomit clouding from the toilet is enough to bring about another wave of nausea he had no energy nor will to supress, instead readily dry-heaving to the side. And when he's done, he weakly twists onto his hands and knees, moving forward to flush the toilet. He shuffles back until he's met with the cooling tiles of the wall. He takes a moment to soak in the relief and dispel the unbearable heat, before surveying what needs to be cleaned.

He coughs out a sob, throat sore and hoarse, holding his shoulders as his body shakes. "It's just me." He mumbles to himself, over and over, head falling back to rest against the wall. "I-It's just me…" He says his mantra breathlessly and without hope, readying himself to begin tidying up. Vomiting may not quicker or easier, but the cleaning certainly does. "Just me."

"And me!"

His head snaps to the side, instinct causing him to face the sudden voice, loud and cheerful as the day. "I-Izaya..?" He stutters out, shifting into a better position.

"It's just you and me here, Shizu-chan." He states, motioning to the door. "Tom left about half an hour ago." The brunette strides into the bathroom, crouching before Shizuo and lifting his chin. "So how about we clean up?"

He looks up to Izaya, snot trailing from his nose, vomit from his lips and tears from is eyes, and yet there's this overpowering sense of resistance, of pain, stubborn and fighting and dangerous that he has to force back some terrible cry of indignation when he sees the pale hand reaching out to him.

It's surprising to see how efficiently Izaya can clean, especially something like the vomit of the man Shizuo thought he's loathed for a good portion of his life. But when he's done there's not a spot r drop he's missed, even going as far as helping Shizuo to move to the sink and wash his mouth.

"Reeks of lemon..." He mutters under his breath. The cheap bottles of cleaner Tom brought always had an overwhelmingly strong smell, sometimes lemons, sometimes mint always so the bathroom never smelt like vomit and bleach.

He doesn't see Izaya's face until they reach the kitchen, he doesn't want to look up and see the smug expression waiting to smirk at him, and yet Izaya still never says a word.

Tom'll be back soon enough, better start cooking. He thinks to himself, moving away from Izaya.

Their kitchen is nice. Spacious and light with a large counter in the middle and the dining table in front of it that faces the living room a few meter away, where the tiles suddenly switch to wooden floorboards. He begins gathering ingredients onto the largest counter when Izaya decides to slink over and watch him.

The little light that is quickly receding leaks into the kitchen and falls onto Shizuo's face as he begins to prepare the food. His hands, bruised, sore and clean, are doing complicated things with the meat and vegetables; Izaya can't tear his eyes away. He's leaning on the same counter the blonde is working at, mesmerised by the quick maneuvers until he speaks up.

"He hits you." Izaya observes.

"Every couple argues." It's fair enough to say that not everybody can have a relationship where the sky is always a brilliant blue and flowers are always blooming—that's an illusion, the kind that shatters with a well-aimed punch or an exceptionally piercing scream.

"He rapes you."

To that, Shizuo has no reply.

Izaya sighs and stands up straight. "You see what I mean?" He rubs his eyes a little then turns to focus more on Shizuo's form. "When was the last time you ate without throwing it back up?"

"I eat…" He starts, eyes never leaving the knife. "I know what Tom says isn't right, so I eat little things when he's not around. But sometimes I just get so paranoid he'll know I end up throwing it back it. But just sometimes."

Izaya taps his knuckles against the wood. "Ne, Shizu-chan, tell me something. What's it like to be you?"

Shizuo's hands fumbling with the vegetables pause. He hesitates. "I'm empty. It's like feels like waking up and realising your entire life is a stimulation or a possibility. It's either not real or it's only one of many other entirely different outcomes; it's fake or it's pointless and sometimes it's both,"

"Because a possibility doesn't necessarily mean it's the actual outcome and a simulation like this is just a possibility gone wrong,"

"Exactly."

Izaya pauses. "You must be pretty lonely to be telling this stuff to me."

"Must be." 

Izaya allows a silence to open up, flirting with the idea. "I want to take you away from here, Shizu-chan." He says at last.

Shizuo immediately tenses up. "W-what..? What are you talking about, Flea? Don't say stupid things like that." His whole body is rigid, eyes unseeing neither the chopping board nor knife.

Izaya's not sure how to continue, the words had come out without consulting his rationality but he's unwilling to retract the statement. The more he thinks about it, the more he's convinced it's the right idea. To be able to take Shizuo back to his apartment, powerless and afraid, silently begging to be asked about his story. Domestic life with a beast? To see the effects of Tom left in him, the habitats and nervous ticks; it all sounds so interesting he can barely contain the oncoming wave of anticipation and glee.

He stares the brute down, eyes smiling. "What do you say, Shizuo-chan?" He asks, snatching a sliced carrot and biting into it. "Run away with me?"

It's as though Shizuo's whole world pauses in that moment. Endless possibilities flashes before his eyes, it reminds him of how it would if he were to die the moment he snapped back to reality. In some he finds himself with happiness, away from the trauma and the person who caused it. In some he's captured and kidnapped and taken away and condemned to the life of a victim.

He may never see the sun that was taken away from him or he may get it all back, and for once he likes the odds more than Tom.

"Yes…" He says. "Yes." He looks Izaya in the eye, gold ones buzzing to life.

"Yes? You're actually coming just like that?"

"There is so much left that I need to do, even if I have no idea what it is yet. I just have a lot of life left to live and Tom is only taking it away from me. Shizuo pauses. "I must be really fucking lonely to be telling you this."

"Must be." Izaya flashes him a cunning smile, one he doesn't trust in the least but is willing to follow. "I'll pick you up tomorrow when Tom leaves, be ready because we're not coming back."

He snatches another carrot slice and Shizuo continues to cook in silence.

***

Izaya doesn't waste a minute as the next day arrives. He's planned his scheme so that it's nothing less than perfect. Tom is out of the house by 10 a.m. because only now does Izaya finally decide to give him the location of the man they'd been searching for, the man he'd found within the first couple of hours on the job.

Shizuo doesn't have much. He has a single carrier bag of clothes and a shoe box he holds close to his chest. Izaya doesn't ask.

Instead, he says: "Let's go." and Shizuo nods and just like that they're out.

When they get to Izaya's apartment, Izaya lounges about while the blonde packs away his stuff in the spare room he'd once used to lock his annoying sisters in when they came to visit, and he thinks to himself, wasn't that a piece of cake.

It's only after Namie's cooked dinner and left them alone do the problems begin to arrive.


End file.
